


Ficlets

by Guggi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desk Sex, M/M, softsmutsunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 05:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guggi/pseuds/Guggi
Summary: Two Mystrade ficlets.Greg waits for Mycroft at his office.And Greg has a slight slip of the tongue.





	1. Doodles

Greg swung around on the office chair. Again and again. Around and around. Letting out a small huff, he stopped to fiddle with a pencil.

Still slightly dizzy from the office chair merry-go-round and bored from waiting for nearly - he checked his phone - 25 minutes, he scribbled on the paper in front of him. Not anything special, just small stick people.

One of them became more distinct as several minutes still passed. An umbrella in the right hand. Neatly pressed suit. Uniquely curled bangs.

Greg let out a sound. He himself would have called it an amused grin. Sherlock would have called it a girlish giggle.

Next to the stickman he drew another one. Coffee in the hand, badge in the other. Spiky hair. So close were the two stick figures, they almost appeared to be holding hands. Greg extended their arms and hands. Now they did.

He smiled fondly. Then cheekily. Doodling all over the papers now, he drew those two again and again. Kissing. On a date. In bed. And all other surfaces he could think of having tried - and wanting to try.

He never prided himself in his artistic abilities, but these had turned out great. Another half an hour passed by. More drawings came to life on the desk. Each one more graphic than the last.

Right in the middle of finishing one taking place in front of the bathroom mirror, Greg heard the sound he had been waiting for. Not many evenings were spent in Mycroft Holmes’ office. Especially not on his own. But today he decided to wait. And waited he had. Almost and hour had gone by.

He shuffled the artsy part of his evening away to one end of the desk. Quickly decided it wasn’t good enough, and laid some folders on top of them. He could dispose of it secretly, later.

Mycroft opened his door. “Why is this unlocked? Anthea, did you see-?” He stopped in his tracks. “Greg?” A small smile formed.

Greg wasted no time, but stood up from the chair. The spinning chair, he noted. Something he didn’t know Mycroft had invested in since the last office meeting they had here. About a month ago.

A child at heart, just like the rest of us, he mused.

“Evening, Mycroft”, he whispered before stepping closer and planting a soft kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth.

“Anything happened?” Mycroft cocked his head.

“Now, does anything bad have to happen for me to come and see you here? Personally.”

“Not particularly no, I just assumed-” Greg kissed him again. Mycroft was slowly starting to get an idea of why Greg was here. The last time he had been met with the handsome inspector at his office late at night had ended rather … happily. So had the time before that. And the time before that.

Mycroft felt a rush of blood going through his body. Classical conditioning and all that.

Ever the go-getter, Greg turned his attention on kissing Mycroft’s neck, hands skillfully occupied elsewhere. Mycroft smiled again and locked the door behind them.

“I’ll hear about your day when we get home then”, Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Greg just hummed and gently pushed him backwards until he was seated on his desk.

Layers of clothing fell off without further ado. Greg slid a hand under Mycroft’s waistcoat before changing his mind and just unbuttoning it. Now stripped of everything but his white shirt, Mycroft leaned into Greg’s touches and kiss.

Greg felt a hand caressing his chest, then moving to the back of his neck. Making Mycroft almost moan when paying attention to his most delicate and sensitive place was Greg’s favorite part.

He had almost immediately learned to turn his lover as soft as jelly when he kissed the part where the neck became the clavicle. It made Mycroft want to let all guards down and scream for more.

After a few years, Greg knew precisely how to make that happen.

Greg’s hand came to rest upon Mycroft’s naked thigh. Letting his fingers caress it, up and down, to create goosebumps and a small shiver from the recipient.

Still seated, Mycroft wrapped one leg around Greg’s hips. Fingers digged deeper and Mycroft’s knuckles turned white from holding onto Greg.

Greg stopped to drop his pants, feeling free when they hit the floor. Mycroft guided his hand to his lower back and shuddered in delight when the other hand was used to gently rub his inner thigh.

Soft moans escaped his mouth, letting Greg know he was nearly ready. A shift in position, Mycroft gliding nearer the edge of the desk, granting Greg easier access. He fumbled with a drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lube. _Naughty_ , he thought.

Greg slicked a finger up, and let Mycroft get used to the cold sensation before his natural heat warmed it up and he was able to insert it in without too much of a shock.

Seconds passed. Greg worked his finger around inside Mycroft, oftentimes earning a hushed moan or a whimper. He took it all slowly, not rushing and enjoying the gentle feel of Mycroft relaxing and opening up a bit more.

A second finger found its way in when Mycroft had relaxed enough. Greg was generous with the lube, making it easier to glide both fingers into him.

Mycroft breathed heavily under the stimulation. Kisses on his neck, hand on his thigh, fingers inside him. He nibbled on Greg’s ear, letting warm breaths hit the skin beneath his lover’s earlobe.

A minute passed. Mycroft tensed up when he felt Greg’s fingers leave him and the head of his member probing for entrance. Remembering to breathe out, he relaxed again.

Mycroft felt like heaven. Like Paradise. An orgasm rippled through his entire being after several minutes of soft and slow love making. He tried hard to stifle a loud moan turned to scream, but when Greg kissed him open-mouthed, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. He imagined the echoes of his scream travelling through the corridors.

“Everyone’s gone home already”, Greg assured him. He must have sensed his glances at the locked door.

Letting themselves enjoy the bliss and afterglow for a while longer, their eyes met again and Mycroft laid his forehead against Greg’s chin.

Later, having dressed themselves, the pair tiptoed through the empty halls and corridors, just in case. Greg was luckily right. The building was empty. Mycroft made a mental note to himself to figure out how Greg knew the government’s working schedule better than he himself did.

A takeout menu and an hour watching rom-coms later, they felt all tuckered out and went to sleep.

Early next morning a text woke Greg up. He was alone in bed and reached for his phone.

_What are those lewd drawings all over my files? -MH_


	2. My Love

It was pouring down, not a hand visible in front of him. Or - as was the case now - a foot.

‘Oomph!’ Greg almost tripped over Sherlock’s foot, lying on the ground. Examining a corpse.

Without a word of ‘hello’ or ‘watch yourself, dear Gregory, you mustn’t hurt yourself’, Sherlock sprung to his feet and covered Greg in facts and clues.

Greg had a hard time keeping his wet hair from dripping in his eyes, and only listened with one ear.

‘… making the victim turn blue..’ … ‘… a set of false teeth’ … ‘non-matching pair of gloves…’

Greg huffed, letting his mind wander to more comfortable surroundings. Cosy chair. Hot coffee. Fire-lit living room.

And.. the man currently walking hastily towards Sherlock, carrying an umbrella, curled up next to him.

But that was only a fantasy. Greg shook his head. Had to stay a fantasy. Can’t let those thoughts intrude now.

‘… going 50 miles per hour!’ Sherlock finished. Greg nodded, as if he had heard it all.

Mycroft came up behind his brother, making sure the umbrella kept him away from the down pour. Not to much use. Everyone else was soaked as well.

He nodded towards Greg, who caught himself staring a little too obviously at the now damp and clinging clothes of Mycroft.

Greg smiled at him, but Mycroft hardly noticed - being too concentrated on keeping his brother from catching a cold.

‘Time to get home, Sherlock.’

Sherlock glanced quickly at him, rolling his eyes. ‘Not now, why don’t you go socialise with the nice detectives instead?’ Greg heard an unmistakable hint of mocking in Sherlock’s voice.

Mycroft tutted and turned around on his heels. Greg had to strike before the chance slipped away. Who knew when the next chance meeting might be?

‘My love, we’re almost finished here anyway, so maybe we could..’ Greg stopped.

Everyone within ten feet had stopped talking and examining and was now staring wide-eyed at Greg.

Sherlock snorted.

‘You.. we.. What?’ Mycroft was at a loss for words.

Greg shrugged. ‘We won’t be here much longer, not much more too see.’

Anderson whistled. Greg turned his head.

‘Bit early for that, hm?’

Greg was getting more and more confused. ‘My love’ he heard someone whisper. What in the world?

He suddenly thought back. Oh no. Oh. No…!

Not that!

Greg winced in embarassment. ‘Mycr-‘

Mycroft spoke up. ‘Such terms of endearment, I would rather you keep within a romantic relationship, Detective Inspector.’

Greg searched Mycroft face. Disgust? No. Contempt? No.

‘Speaking of which. You were about to ask me to join you somewhere, yes? A restaurant, most likely. The answer is yes. Meet me at Al Fresco in half an hour.’ Without another word, Mycroft walked away, a small smile playing on his lips. Finally.

Greg was, yet again, left dumbfounded.


End file.
